


he's still my baby

by kancerously



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Detective Shane Madej, Hurt Ryan Bergara, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, Ryan-centric, Scared Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej Is Shook, Stream of Consciousness, arguably - Freeform, ryan is a journalist by day serial killer by night, shane is a detective running from his past, this is also a lowkey shout out to ricky goldsworth/c.c. tinsley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:19:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kancerously/pseuds/kancerously
Summary: there's still blood underneath ryan's fingernails.the dark circles under his eyes, the faint splotch of red smeared on his unshaved cheek. they seem to mock him--glaring at him from his reflection in the old, cracked mirror before him.his fingers curl tightly around the lip of the sink, knuckles white like the porcelain beneath them.-if you had told shane madej when he was ten years old that his life would turn out so outlandishly strange, he would've been thrilled at the prospect. but now, at age thirty-two, currently chasing down one of los angeles' most prolific serial killers, arm throbbing and bleeding freely from a wound the said killer had inflicted upon him, shane has a much different opinion on how life has gone for him.-my baby's misunderstood / how could something so bad look so damn good / yeah he's still my baby / yeah he's fuckin' crazy but he's still my baby





	he's still my baby

there's still blood underneath ryan's fingernails.  
the dark circles under his eyes, the faint splotch of red smeared on his unshaved cheek. they seem to mock him--glaring at him from his reflection in the old, cracked mirror before him.  
his fingers curl tightly around the lip of the sink, knuckles white like the porcelain beneath them. ryan squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep, shaky breath, before reaching for the rusting handle of the sink faucet. as his hands scrub themselves raw under the scalding heat of the water, he avoids glancing in the mirror a second time. 

______

he passes the alley on his way to work the next day, unable to shove down the churning desire to see what had become of the scene he had fled the night before. 

it was one thing to admire your work in a studio; it was another to witness it being displayed in a gallery. 

gnawing compulsion commandeers his legs, steering him towards the police tape and the flashing of red and blue lights, only releasing a grip on ryan's chest once he was able to see a body being loaded into an ambulance. the pale white sheet pulled over the deathly still form blended masterfully with the blood still seeping from the wounds. his wounds, ryan's brain corrects itself. there was no urgency in the way the emts heave the gurney into the vehicle; ryan knew that even if someone had called just minutes after he completed his latest masterpiece, it would've been too late. 

ryan had been studying for years. he knew of the most delicate, efficient ways to drain a body of blood and life. 

beside him in the crowd gathered to admire the craftsmanship, a woman pulls out a rosary and begins to silently mouth a prayer, head bowed in respect for the deceased.

ryan's stomach clenches. his eyes are drawn to the vast display of blood, a nearly dried pool of a worrying size, staining the light grey of the sidewalk concrete. 

he stumbles back away from the crowd to call his boss. 

"yeah, hey. / i'm actually there now. / yeah. / i'm a little rattled. / i'm gonna stick around and see what i can dig up. / yeah. / sure. / yeah. / i'll talk to you later." 

ryan feels his skin crawl. he imagines his boss noticing the peculiar pinch of ryan's voice. pictures him demanding to know if ryan was the one who did it. shudders at the thought of being discovered. he loathes that idea, perhaps more so than he does the sight of blood or the feeling of the knife in his hand.

his fingers curl into themselves, knuckles white like the sheet covering the bloodied cadaver in front of him. ryan squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep, shaky breath, before turning to leave. 

a gentle hand on his arm stops him. he rotates back on his feet, turning, re-turning, to face the person before him. ryan's eyes narrow in on the large, warm hand on the outside of his bicep, following it up, wrist begetting arm, arm begetting shoulder, to the head it was attached to. there he finds kind brown eyes, staring back at him. 

ryan quickly scans over the rest of the stranger in front of him, jumping back at the sight of the gun at his hip and the name tag on the blue uniform shirt reading detective madej. his heart races. 

the police officer before him holds out two large hands in a mollifying manner. he smiles sheepishly at ryan, warm eyes crinkling. 

“sorry,” he says, “didn't mean to scare you.”

ryan manages to let out a strangled laugh.

“i just noticed you looked kind of rattled and i want to make sure you were alright,”

ryan gulps and steels himself, willing the trembling of his hands to dissipate, before slipping into his familiar and personable work persona. he returns a sheepish smile that could rival officer madej's own. 

“no, i'm sorry for jumping,” ryan says in a chipper voice just shy of hollow. 

he clenches his teeth and smiles wider.

“i'm just a little shook up is all. it's not every day you see a dead body. well, at least for normal folk like me i guess,” he adds glancing down at the detective's holstered weapon.

this earns an amused chuckle from madej. ryan holds out his, now thankfully un-trembling, hand for the officer.

“i'm ryan bergara, i'm a reporter for the l.a. times. don't worry though, i won't pester you for a statement, i just happened to walk by on my way in to work.”

the taller man in front of him takes ryan's hand and shakes it firmly in a warm, firm grasp.

“detective shane madej,” he says, laughing a little at ryan's quirked eyebrow.

“yeah, i know i don't really look like a detective. i am, as has been pointed out to me on numerous occasions, basically one of those wiggly inflatable guys you see outside of car dealerships.”

ryan can't suppress his snort, and finds himself pleasantly surprised at his own enjoyment of the other man's laugh when shane joins in. 

“well,” shane says in a conspiratorial tone, leaning closer to ryan, “you didn't hear it from me but we think this might be the work of a serial killer.”

despite the sweltering heat of southern california, ryan can't suppress a shiver. 

“oh, really?” he asks, voice quiet. 

“why do you think that?”

shane looks over his shoulder, then leans closer yet.

“it matches the m.o. of a couple of other murders we've seen in the past few months. mutilation, stab wounds, bodies nearly drained of blood. this guy is one sick bastard who knows how to make people bleed.”

the words reach ryans ears behind some kind of fog. he hears them, just barely. but they fail to find purchase in his brain, hitting the fog before falling to ryan's feet.

“oh jeez,” he hears himself whisper with a shudder.

shane nods. his large hand comes back up to clap ryan's arm in a friendly manner, breaking the somber mood, and jarring ryan from his trance.

“hope that was useful enough to make up for you having to see this mess,” shane says, lazily jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the crime scene. 

“oh,” ryan says, “yeah! this is great. you totally saved my ass, now i have an excuse for being late to work.”

he gives the detective a sly grin from under hooded eyelids.

“and besides,” he adds, “you're a good storyteller.”  
ryan tells himself that the flutter in his gut when the taller man grins back at him with pink-tinted cheeks, is just relief that his smooth talking saved his ass. 

shane sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, a faint smile still playing on his lips as his eyes flick back up towards ryan's.

“well,” he says, voice sounding shaken, “i could always give you my number if you wanted to hear another story some time.”

ryan can't chalk the pleasant squeeze of his heart up to relief this time however, and his lips curl in to a genuine smile for the first time in weeks.

“i'd like that,” he says, grinning softly up at the police officer before him. 

ryan shoves down the apprehension rolling in his stomach. he convinces himself that having a direct line to what the police think about his little, art displays, will help him avoid getting caught. as he hands over his phone to shane, he firmly tells himself that his relationship with the detective will be strictly one out of self preservation. and as he promises to text shane when he gets to work so the other man knows he, “got there in one piece”, ryan pointedly does not think about how lying to himself has always been one of his strong suits. 

_____

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to not only apologize to my mom, but more importantly, shane and ryan. i really hardly ever write rpf but here we are. i just want to explain that when i'm writing this i don't assume this is how the real ryan bergara and shane madej would ever act. rather, i'm envisioning two fictional versions of the ghoul boys that only exist in the 11pt arial font of my word docs. that is also the flimsy excuse as to why this is so ooc. but hey, i'm the asshole behind the keyboard so i can do what i want, i guess. as is my standard, this is coming to you live and unbeta'd, so please don't be afraid to drop a comment down below if you find anything i need to fix.


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